


No Higher a Power Than I

by Kittycattycat



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Murder, Death, Fear, Fear of Death, Gen, Hatred, Hell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, Revenge, Vague descriptions of gross stuff, nothing graphic but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: When he was alive, things had been simple in their own complex way of being so. Oxymorons and dichotomies were life’s specialties, after all, and over time William learned to embrace them in full.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	No Higher a Power Than I

William Afton had experienced so much that every experience was familiar to him, in at least some vague form or roundabout way. 

He had seen death itself; stared down the barrel of its gun, fought against, and reigned victorious in the end (but only for a while, only temporarily.) He’d been a human, animatronic, and somewhere in between the two. He’d been a son, a friend, a husband, a father. He’d been a friendly face and a slaughterer. A confidant, a comforter, a killer.

The jury, judge, and executioner, all in one. 

When he was alive, things had been simple in their own complex way of being so. Oxymorons and dichotomies were life’s specialties, after all, and over time William learned to embrace them in full. He built, he created, he tore down, he destroyed. Creating ‘life’ from seemingly nothing. Communicating with Henry over new projects, breathing softly against Laura’s neck as they held each other close on the sofa. He missed that, in the same detached way he missed everything else in his former life.

When he died for the first time, all he felt in the aftermath was sheer terror, bitter regret, and surges of fire-hot rage that scorched him from the inside out. He couldn’t leave the room, he could hardly move. Where was he to go even if he could? He sat on the concrete floor and counted cobwebs, counted his own long-dried bloodstains, counted the minutes and the hours and the months and the decades… he’d almost gone numb, left only with a hollow feeling that burrowed itself like maggots deep within his decaying chest cavity. 

Then, they had opened the wall— uncovered him— and so consumed by an oncoming wave of newfound anger was he that he barely had room for coherent thought of his own any longer. But he held it together. He had to. It was terrifying, but so exhilarating. He hated it with every fiber of his being; he wanted to relive and redo every single second of it, feel the destructive overflow of emotions that ravaged his corpse and made him feel so fucking alive. 

Most of what happened after discovery and before the ‘new pizzeria’ came and went to William in vivid, horrendous blurs. Lord knows he’d tried to forget Fazbear’s Fright and everything that has happened there. But even still, he had to trail his son. His eldest child, his little look-alike. Things could have been so great.

He knew that new place was a trap— he’d known from the very start. It reeked of Henry’s handiwork, and of his son’s traitorous influence. But he couldn’t stay away, couldn’t make his body understand what his mind knew to be the truth. He lied to himself that he could get away unscathed, because he always came back. He always made it out. He was William fucking Afton and not even death could hinder his progress. He would take, and take, and take, like the hedonist he’d always been in life.

The sound of high-pitched repetitive music, the sickening smell of overpriced and disgusting food slathered in grease— it was a child’s paradise. It made him flash back to the sounds of crying and cracking bones, pooling blood and mucus mixed with beloved caricature. He shivered with unhinged delight. He didn’t regret a damn thing. Not at the time, and not now.

Even still, It didn’t take a genius to know there was no escape from the vents which he’d found himself in. An endless maze with no exit, a puzzle with no reward. But he couldn’t resist. He just couldn’t resist. 

From the vents, as the searing pain and overwhelming smell of burning, rotten flesh overtook all else, William watched his son claim his final prize. 

But all of that was then. He understood what was now, knew what was to come now that he was to meet his maker, and he’d never experienced such tormenting agony as when he came to his end. Fear was at the forefront of his mind. This was something he couldn’t even attempt to rationalize away into nothingness. This finality was tangible, and it was coming fast. 

For all his faults, arrogances, stupidities, and failures, William could understand the concept of hell.


End file.
